The Meaning of Chocolate
by Hollow Nightmare
Summary: Lisbon begins receiving little Hershey's Kisses. Jane/Lisbon, Oneshot


**Author's Note: Meant as a sort of sequel to **_**Aftermath**_**, but can be read alone. It was meant to be mainly about the Hershey's Kisses, but I got carried away and somehow that doesn't come in until the very end... Review please!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

*******

One day turns into two, which in turns into three, which somehow turns into a week. And finally, a week after being discharged from the hospital and three weeks since she was shot, Lisbon is allowed to return to work - on the condition that she doesn't leave the office. She's sentenced to being a paper-pusher for another two weeks before she can go out in the field. Like a child, she thinks resentfully.

She still has to have someone taking care of her, another fact that she... well, actually, she doesn't really hate it as much as she complains she does. She'd never admit it to anyone, but she actually enjoys spending time with Jane. Maybe more than she should, considering he's only meant to be staying with her for another week.

He spends most nights on the couch, pretending to sleep, but there are some nights he spends in her bed, his limbs tangled up with hers and his mind finally peaceful. He claims it's to help her with her nightmares, and she keeps it silent that she stopped having nightmares ages ago. It's left unsaid that there are other, more honest, reasons why they both like to fall asleep together.

The last Sunday before Lisbon returns to the office, Jane wakes up with a start at the sound of furious knocking at her front door. He blinks drowsily a few times, still unused to the novelty of having to actually _wake up_, then turns his head to find Lisbon curled into his shoulder, her mouth open and one leg draped over his. Slowly, carefully, he runs his palm down the side of her face, just barely touching her soft hair. She nuzzles closer until her lips press directly against the skin at his neck. He freezes, not used to the feeling. They're soft, and very, very warm, and Jane feels a sudden flare of attraction that he doesn't know how to deal with.

Lisbon isn't beautiful. Not like his wife was. She was tall and blonde and had a perfectly straight nose and warm, laughing eyes. She had had a normal, happy childhood, and was the most caring, outgoing person he knew. Lisbon, he knows, had some sort of trauma when she was young, and now she's rougher and tougher around the edges, with little social skills, and is somewhat unable to deal with excessive emotion. She is like a pale waif, small and dark with an upturned little nose and a raw voice. She isn't beautiful - but God, she's cute.

He realizes he's comparing Lisbon to his wife, and the thought makes him feel very, very uneasy. The persistent knocking at the door helps him block it out for a while, and he remembers what woke him up in the first place.

Easing out of the bed, he tries not to wake her as he stumbles his way to the entrance, finding his left leg is numb from the weight of her lying half on top of him. There's no peephole, so he just opens the door. There's a man outside, tall, with dark hair and a scowl, his fist poised to knock once again. The man blinks at him, surprise clearly showing on his face, and Jane just blinks back.

The silence stretches on for another beat, before Jane asks politely, "Can I help you?"

"Who are you?" he demands.

Jane doesn't think he meant to be rude, so he lets it slide. He figures it's due to surprise - especially once Jane looks down at himself and realizes he's still wearing pajamas. He's about to answer when Lisbon's voice comes from behind him, groggy with sleep.

"Greg?"

She still sounds like she hasn't woken up properly, her voice hoarse, but he can read the surprise in it.

The man - Greg? - tears his bewildered gaze from Jane to glance at Lisbon, and a smile breaks across his face. A second later, before Jane even has time to react, he has swept inside the apartment and snatched Lisbon into his arms, squeezing her so tight that even Jane can see she's struggling to breathe. He watches them with a blank expression, and notes the lack of a wedding ring on the man's finger. Single, he thinks sourly, and his mood worsens when he notices that Lisbon wraps her arms around him in return, hugging him back. He tries to remember, but he doesn't think Lisbon has ever given _him_ a hug...

"What are you doing here?" she asks when they step apart, though he's still got his hands on her shoulders.

He doesn't answer her, just takes in her appearance, from her bare feet to her ratty pajama bottoms and t-shirt, all the way up to where just the hint of a scar is showing above her neckline. She's supposed to have her stitches taken out in two days, Jane suddenly remembers. Greg gets another scowl on his face (cheerful man, thinks Jane resentfully), and stoops down a bit so that he's at eye level with her, hoping his glare will be more effective.

"When, exactly," he starts in a dark voice, "were you going to tell me you were shot?"

Lisbon looks like a little kid who's been busted with her hand in the cookie jar. Jane almost wants to laugh, but doesn't want to incur her wrath.

"I was," she insists, but the way she's shifting her feet says otherwise. "I just hadn't gotten around to it... yet..."

"Three weeks after?" Greg asks disbelievingly with raised eyebrows; his tone of voice and expression remind Jane of someone, but he can't quite figure out who.

"Well, I've been busy..." stalls Lisbon, and glances at Jane as if for help with an excuse.

Greg notices where her gaze lands, and he too turns to look at Jane. His expression is not exactly friendly, so Jane tries a harmless grin to get him to loosen up. It doesn't work. If anything, his glare intensifies - especially once he notices the lack of blankets and pillows on the couch.

"And you didn't tell me you were living with a man, either."

Lisbon suddenly looks very small and awkward, and Jane is reminded of how socially inept she actually is. Sure, she knows how to talk to people - she has to, doing investigative work - but, when she's not hiding behind her job, she's not much of a people person.

"Oh, I'm not -" he starts, intent on saving Lisbon from her own social awkwardness.

"We're not living together," she interrupts him with _look_, as if she expects him to start sprouting off lies about how they've eloped together. "He's just staying with me until the doctor gives me the okay to be on my own."

Greg's eyes flick over him, looking him up and down. Jane stands still, a falsely congenial smile frozen on his face, and tries not to show his resentment at being judged like this. Lisbon suddenly seems to snap to, remembering that introductions are generally useful in society.

"This is Patrick Jane, a consultant for the CBI, and this, here," she says, pointing at Greg with a fond roll of her eyes, "is my over-protective little brother, Greg."

Jane feels a great _whoosh_ of relief fill his lungs at the knowledge that Greg isn't her secret boyfriend or anything along those lines, but he refuses to question why he feels relieved. Greg, too, suddenly seems to relax, and an amused grin spreads across his face.

"Oh, so you're _Jane_," he says, as if that means something to him.

Jane can feel a grin spreading across his cheeks, and he reaches out to shake Greg's hand. Lisbon, standing slightly off to the side, watches both of them suspiciously. She looks as if she regrets introducing them, and a little frightened of what they might tell each other.

"So I suppose Lisbon's been talking about me?" concludes Jane with a sparkle in his eyes, sparing her a quick glance.

She scowls at him, and crosses her arms over her t-shirt.

"Oh, yeah," admits Greg, and Lisbon switches her glare on to him. "Well, complaining, actually, but I've learnt to read between the lines, if you know what I mean."

He winks once, and Jane's grin widens with pure delight at the embarrassed blush on Lisbon's face.

"Okay, you two, that's enough."

She's trying to be stern, but she can't quite keep the hint of a smile off of her face. And really, the blush on her cheeks does _not_ make her formidable.

Overall, Jane is quite pleased with how the situation has turned out - at least until he's booted out of her apartment. Then he's not quite so pleased. Well, he supposes he wasn't technically _booted_ out, but rather pressured to leave. After all, now that her brother's here, Lisbon doesn't really need Jane staying with her too. Besides, there's only room on the couch for one, and neither will admit to sharing a bed at night.

As he moodily kicks at a stone on his way to his own empty house, Jane comforts himself with the knowledge that Lisbon didn't seem to want him to leave, either, and with the fact that he'll see her tomorrow at work.

Lisbon, too, has to tell herself this. She feels an inexplicable sense of loss after Jane leaves, which she knows is both dangerous and foolish. She can see Greg looking at her speculatively from the couch in the living room, and knows there will be questions to answer. Questions she won't like.

He doesn't even lead up to it gently, just comes out with the blunt, "So how well _do_ you know Jane?"

She looks at him askance. She does _not_ want to answer that question, even to herself. She doesn't know what the answer would be.

She distracts him, instead. She's lived with him for years, taken care of him for most of it, and knows him a lot better than he realizes. She knows what will work as a good distractive measure, and questions him about his long-term, steady girlfriend.

"I'm going to ask her to marry me," he admits bashfully, ducking his head just a bit.

Lisbon isn't even surprised. They've been together for a long time - if anything, she's surprised it's taken him this long to finally ask. He isn't cautious and reserved like Lisbon; he's spontaneous and when he knows what he wants, he goes for it.

"I'm happy for you," she says.

And she is, really. But there's a bit of sadness mixed in as well. After not having even been on a date in about a year, let alone been in a serious relationship, she's starting to believe that she won't ever get married. Which is fine with her, she manages to convince herself for a little while. After bringing up her two younger brothers, she's had enough of mothering people. And she never wanted to be a housewife, anyway.

Then she thinks of waking up next to Jane in the mornings, warm and content, and she's not so sure anymore.

Dangerous thought.

The next morning, she goes in to work for the first time in what feels like forever. It feels _good_ to be back, to have something to actually occupy her time with (and, maybe, to get away from Greg's probing questions about her love life, most of which centre around Jane). If her excitement has a little less to do with reports and a little more to do with seeing Jane again, she doesn't question it.

He's lying on his couch when she arrives, eyes closed, and she wonders for a brief instant whether he slept at all last night. She knows somehow that he didn't.

She half expects things to be awkward between them after the last week, but they're not. They go right back to how they were before and, before she knows it, the week is over and she's allowed back in the field. Greg has gone back east to his soon-to-be fiancee and, after many annoying phone calls from her other brother, Lisbon's finally left alone. Thank God, she thinks, glad to be rid of the hovering.

Her stitches have finally come out, leaving behind a pinkish scar that is slowly fading to white. It is a long line, from the base of her collarbone all the way down to the bottom of her ribs, from where they had to cut her chest open to remove the bullet. She took one glance at it in the mirror when she got home, nearly vomited at the sight, and hasn't looked at it since. After all, if no one else is there to see it then why should she? Not exactly healthy, she'd admit, but she doesn't care. She's just glad she isn't the overly girly type, and has taken to wearing shirts with higher necklines.

Their first case is a long, complicated one, involving many inter-linking romantic affairs. (Why is it always affairs, she wonders, and Jane answers that affairs link to deceit and jealousy, which are both high factors in murder cases.)

After a month of coming to terms with the fact that Lisbon nearly died, Jane is back to his usual cocky self, sprouting off observations and angering the suspects. Unfortunately, he accuses the wrong suspect of an affair that he isn't having, and the innocent man punches Jane in the nose. (Lisbon wonders if she should start counting how often Jane gets punched, and then figures that Cho and Rigsby already have a bet about it.)

Since it actually happens at the CBI Headquarters, while the suspect is being questioned, Lisbon rushes into the room and runs towards Jane, just like she always does, to check he's okay, then starts leading him back to his couch.

"Assault! Assault!" Jane is shouting, though it's hard to make out exactly what he's saying due to the blood pouring from his nose.

It gets everywhere, all over the floor and her clean shirt and his hands, which are cupped around his nose as if for protection. Lisbon just rolls her eyes and uses her hands on his shoulders to push him into a sitting position on the couch. She sits on the coffee table in front of him and leans forwards to see the extent of the damage, which seems worse than normal. She has to pry Jane's hands away from his face, sighing in exasperation the whole time. She locates a box of tissues and starts to gently dab at his nose, but he twists his head away.

"Ow," he whines.

"Oh, stop being a baby," she mutters, trying and failing to mop up the blood.

Jane tilts his head back, likely in an attempt to stop the blood flow, but Lisbon has enough experience dealing with nose bleeds (what can she say - she's got two little brothers) to know that this is a bad idea.

"No, tilt your head forward," she says. "You need to let the blood stop flowing on its own."

She places her fingers in the curls just above his ears, and inclines his head downwards. The blood continues its steady drip onto the floor below them. Jane winces and, without even being aware of it, Lisbon's fingers stroke soothingly through his hair.

"You know, you could just stop accusing suspects of having affairs," she says lightly.

"Where's the fun in that?" he replies, but his voice sounds congested.

"Oh, of course," she mocks him sarcastically. "'Cause this is so much fun."

"Hey," he protests mildly. "I'm the one with the bleeding nose."

"And I'm the one who has to take care of it."

Her voice isn't sharp, though. It's rather teasing, actually.

Eventually the stream of blood slows down to just a few, leftover drips, and then stops altogether. Reluctantly, Lisbon pulls her fingers out of Jane's hair, willing herself not to blush, and Jane sits up straighter. She grabs another tissue then leans forwards towards him, peering up at his face.

"Here, let me see," she murmurs.

She dabs at the blood just under his nose, and wipes it off of his chin. She leans even closer to prod lightly with her index finger against the side of his nose, ignores his wince, and then brushes her finger gently just under his eye, where she can see he's going to get a nasty bruise.

She finally meets his gaze and realizes that she is much, much closer than she planned to be, so close that she can see each individual blonde eyelash and tiny, fine crinkle at the corner of his eyes. He's watching her solemnly with a slightly perplexed frown, and his gaze is so intent that she almost forgets to breathe. She freezes, instead, and starts to slowly pull back.

"Wait," he says quietly, and she stops moving. He's still watching her. She's sure her face is on fire. "Don't move. I want to try something."

She keeps still, her heart racing so hard she can actually feel it pounding against her ribcage. He's too close. Too close.

And - he's coming even closer, she realizes with a start. Too close. So close that she has to shut her eyes to keep from going cross-eyed. She's not sure if that makes the feeling in her chest better or worse. She can't see him anymore, but she can... _feel_ him, feel his very presence. She can hear his quiet breathing, feel it against her cheek, a slight warmth radiating off of him, and she can smell him, just a hint of faded cologne...

"What are you doing?"

She tries to sound bemused, like she did weeks ago when he claimed he wanted to 'feel her smile', but somehow her voice comes out in a shaky croak.

"Shh," he whispers, and she realizes just how close he is.

She's scared to open her eyes, but she's sure he's just barely an inch away from her. They stay that way for what feels like forever, simply breathing each other's air, and Lisbon wonders how long the torture is going to last. What _is_ he doing?

He's not going to -

He can't be trying to -

He wouldn't -

Then there's a flurry of movement, cold air swoops in front of her, and Lisbon opens her eyes to find Jane has backed far, far away from her, his eyes wide and his pupils practically dilated with panic.

"Jane, what -" she questions helplessly.

She has never felt so wrong-footed in her life. _What_ has just happened? She wants to stand up so that she's on equal footing with him, but she doesn't think she can even _move_.

"I - I can't," he stutters.

He gestures with his hands helplessly, his wide eyes trained on hers. He looks like a frightened, cornered animal. She wants to walk over to him, either to ask him what he can't do or to reassure him - she's not sure which is more important at the moment - but then his fight or flight instinct kicks in and he all but sprints away down the corridor.

Lisbon, left sitting on her own on the coffee table, becomes suddenly aware of the all of the noise and movement around her, and remembers that she's at the office. She thinks she should stand up and get back to work before anybody questions her sanity, but she can't make herself move.

What the hell just happened?

She doesn't see him for the rest of the day and then, thankfully, it's the weekend; she won't have to worry about him until Monday. She spends the weekend on her own at her apartment, watching old movies and drinking red wine and studiously _not_ thinking about Jane. She goes in to the hospital for a check-up on her wound, spends hours on the phone to her youngest brother, and still doesn't think about Jane. When Monday morning finally rolls around, she has managed to convince herself that nothing really important happened, and the best course of action is avoidance and ignorance.

Until she gets to the office and finds Jane is not on his couch. She feels a slight swoop in her stomach; Jane is _always_ on his couch in the morning. He's always the first one there. He hasn't done anything stupid, has he?

Her nerves already thrumming slightly with anxiety and nervousness, she walks into her office and is about to lay her briefcase on her desk when she stops. There, on top of her neatly stacked pile of reports to go through, is a tiny object shaped like a gumdrop, wrapped in silver tinfoil paper with a little label sticking out the top that reads 'KISSES'. It's just innocently sitting there, as if it belongs there, all happy and glowing. Lisbon frowns perplexedly, then snatches it up and stalks to the bullpen.

"What is this?" she demands when she gets there.

Cho, who has just arrived and is pulling out a chair to sit down, briefly looks up.

"Chocolate," he replies; Rigsby's face lights up, and Van Pelt, shrugging off her coat, frowns disapprovingly at him.

"How did it get in my office?" she enunciates, holding out the innocent little chocolate as if it is a dangerous weapon.

All three agents shrug and deny any knowledge. Lisbon, giving up, walks back to the office and sits down, gingerly placing the chocolate at the edge of her desk. She has a fair idea of who originally put there.

She just doesn't know why.

It's at least an hour before she finally sees him. He strolls into her office as if nothing has happened, two steaming cups in his hands, and places one down on the desk in front of her. She raises her eyebrows at him, questioning. Jane never brings her coffee. Maybe this is some sort of apology? He shrugs lamely, blowing on his own tea to cool it down. When she still doesn't speak, he raises his eyebrows as if to say_, what are you staring at?_ She simply frowns at him, letting him know he's not off the hook -

Then she realizes they've just had a whole conversation without words, which makes her feel uneasy - especially once she realizes this is something they do a lot. It's too... intimate.

"What is this?" she finally asks, holding up the little chocolate and waiting for an answer.

"A Hershey's Kiss," replies Jane, casually leaning against the door with a little relaxed grin.

Lisbon rolls her eyes from her desk chair.

"I know that. I meant, what is it doing on my desk?"

"Well, I put it there, obviously," says Jane, talking as if she's a particularly dim-witted child.

She refuses to rise to the bait.

"Why?"

"It's symbolic. I thought the symbolism was quite obvious, myself."

Lisbon is stumped, and she frowns at him, rolling the chocolate between her fingers.

"What does that mean?" she finally asks, not sure if she wants to know the answer.

Jane gives another little grin, as if he takes delight in not giving her a straight answer.

"Symbolic?" he repeats. "It's when one thing - usually a noun - is used to represent or stand for something else -"

"I know what symbolic means," Lisbon interrupts with an annoyed huff. "I meant - what's it symbolic of?"

Jane, for the first time all morning, starts to look a little uneasy. Realizing she's quite serious, he stops leaning against the door and stands up straighter, looking at her seriously. He didn't expect to have to actually put it in words, and now he's not quite sure how. He takes a step closer to her, but seems wary of entering her personal space.

"It means..." he starts quietly, then stops, simply staring at her. "It means I want to give you the real thing, but... I can't."

Lisbon, her mouth slightly open, simply stares at him. She wonders if she's dreaming. Surely he doesn't mean what she thinks he means... He's playing with her, or something. He freaked out a little bit on Friday, but since then he has realized that he can have some fun with this... Or maybe he's just trying to let her down gently.

Slightly humiliated but more concerned by the fact that perhaps her actions on Friday slowed down Jane's grieving process, she says, very gently, "Jane, you don't have to say that-"

He cuts her off.

"No, you don't understand. I want to. You have _no idea_ how much I want to."

She thinks his messing around with her has gone too far and is about to tell him so, but stops at the look on his face. He's deadly serious. In fact, the last time he was this serious was when he was telling her about Sophie. And his eyes.. they are practically burning with intensity as he stares at her. Her face starts to flame as realization sweeps over her, and there are little nervous flutters in her chest.

"Oh," she says, so quietly that it's almost just a breath.

She doesn't know what to say to that. As if realizing this, Jane speaks instead.

"But - I can't. I need -" He seems to struggle to find the right word, then says finally, "closure."

He looks very regretful, and Lisbon feels something like disappointment settle in her bones.

"I understand," she says quietly, and something flickers in Jane's eyes.

"I'm hoping," he continues, as if she hasn't spoken, "that, until then, these can... tide you over."

Something like hope blossoms in her centre, spreading through her veins and causing a smile to form on her face. She can hear his unasked request: he wants her to wait for him. The thought sends a strange giddiness shooting through her and, try as she might, she can't quell it.

"Oh, I think that could work," she says lightly, and watches as Jane's eyes start to twinkle merrily.

The next morning, there is another little Hershey's Kiss sitting on her desk, waiting for her. And the next morning, and the next, and the next... And then, one day, she doesn't need them anymore. She's got the real thing.


End file.
